


You're Used To This Life

by doctormccoy



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, all that good stuff, disgruntled bilbo, slight AU on the canon, some minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormccoy/pseuds/doctormccoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Goblins hadn't interrupted the conversation between Bofur and Bilbo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Used To This Life

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't take the parts taken from the movie entirely word for word, but the it's the same conversation more or less up until I deviate into the AUish part.
> 
> A drabble I wrote when my internet was down. Yet another courting themed fic, I know, but it is such an adorable concept I couldn't resist.
> 
> Disclaimer: All is owned by Tolkien, none is owned by me.

"Where's Bilbo?!" 

Bofur was convinced he'd died, that the halfling had been crushed when the stone giant crashed into the rock face, or that he had fallen to a gruesome death. He'd nearly launched himself over the mountainside when he saw those familiar pale hands grappling at the edge, blindly reaching for the hobbit, desperate, panic in every line of his face mirrored in Bilbo's. His heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest and he was blind to anything else but Bilbo and reaching further towards him, to save him, to protect his beloved halfling.

It's Thorin, ultimately, who has the thought to leap down onto the tiny cropping of rock jutting out from the wall and haul Bilbo up into Bofur's waiting grasp, pulled to safety himself by the ever reliable Dwalin. Despite his selfless actions, however, the King Under the Mountain spits words barbed with venom at Bilbo, with Bofur unable to do more than sit there and stare, wanting to come to Bilbo's defense yet unable to rebuke Thorin's rage. 

In a haze, the group stumbles into the mountain cave, setting up bedrolls and falling into them with little care paid to loosening belts or removing packs. They were all dead on their feet and shaky from their run in with the stone giants and all but Bofur, who had been placed on watch by Thorin, fell into a quick slumber.

Bofur is contemplative as he settles in facing the mouth of the cave, listening to the steady snores of his brother and the sound of rain and thunder outside. He's gnawing absently on a hang nail and tries to deny the way his gaze flickers back to Bilbo more than once, taking in how small and frail he looks surrounded by their Dwarven company. Of course, Bilbo is certainly not frail, for hobbits are a stout and sturdy people, but Bofur couldn't help but feel a thrill of protectiveness rise up in him at the sight of the halfling, curled in on himself and looking even smaller than usual. He denies the heat of desire that accompanies this urge to keep Bilbo far from harm, reminding himself, for what must be the umpteenth time since they left Bag End, that it would not be proper for a hobbit to be courted by a male Dwarf. Even if Dwarf customs allowed for it, hobbit customs surely did not. And Bofur could not even be certain that Bilbo did not have a lass waiting for him to return from this venture, though the halfling had made no mention of one thus far. 

His musings are interrupted by the very individual plaguing his thoughts, as fate would have it, and Bofur stands up in sudden dismay at the sight of Bilbo with his gear on his back and his stick in hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" he managed to say as loudly as he dared with his fellow Dwarves sleeping around them, unable to come up with anything wittier. 

"Home," Bilbo responded firmly, and Bofur could tell that while he'd been having an argument with himself, that the hobbit had been having an internal battle of his own.  
Desperate to prevent Bilbo from leaving, he took another step forward, eyes wide and earnest.

"But you can't go! You're part of the company," the dwarf protested, wringing his hands in front of him.

A look of sorrow flashed across Bilbo's face and he scuffed his foot a little, shrugging.

"I'm not, though, am I? Thorin was right. I don't belong here," he murmured, and Bofur found himself cursing the Dwarf King's heated words.

"You're homesick! That's okay, I understand," he sighed softly, trying to get the hobbit to see reason. Bilbo's back straightened and he shook his head, glaring at Bofur.

"No you don't, you don't understand, you're Dwarves. You're used to this life, to living on the road, not having a home, never belonging anywhere!"

Bilbo came up short when he seemed to realize what he'd just said, staring in horror at Bofur. To his credit, the Dwarf managed a smile, albeit a sad one.

"You're right, Bilbo. I don't have a home, a true home, but I've oft dreamed of one, ever since I was little."

He turned his gaze on Bilbo, gaining courage from the knowledge that this might be his only chance to tell the hobbit, his hobbit, his true affections. Bofur moved forward towards him, pinning the halfling against the rock wall, eyes dark with emotion and mouth curved in a soft expression. Bilbo, to his credit, doesn't look outwardly frightened, though his eyes dart about and refuse to settle for long, as if searching for an escape.

Bofur took the walking stick from Bilbo's hand and sets it aside against the wall, planting his open palms on either side of the halfling so that they're eye to eye, forcing their gaze to meet.

"Though, to be honest with you, those dreams have changed a bit of late to include certain things I never thought they would. A particular hobbit, for example."

Bilbo's eyes go wide at this confession and his mouth opens and closes in a comical imitation of a fish pulled fresh from the stream, but beyond the obvious surprise his emotions are a mystery to Bofur, and he stares at him anxiously, waiting. Either Bilbo would return his feelings and this would have been worth it, or the hobbit would cast him aside in disgust and return to his comfortable hole in the ground. Either way, at least, Bofur would have closure on the matter, whether joyful or sorrowful in nature.

"I. Well, it's just. Oh, bother," Bilbo sighed, exasperated. Small hands planted on Bofur's chest and pushed him back and he felt as if his heart went with it, falling to the pit of his stomach. The Dwarf opened his mouth to apologize for his impropriety, but it seemed Bilbo was not yet finished and he was silenced with a small, dry cough. 

The hobbit was red to the tips of his ears and if Bofur hadn't felt like throwing himself off the mountain in that moment he might have teased him about it. As it were, he stood there like a lovesick child, waiting to find out if his affections might be returned.

"This is not how things are done in the Shire," Bilbo began, arms folded across his chest and the picture of indignant dismay in that moment, mouth drawn in a hard line. Bofur opened his mouth once more to beg for forgiveness, but he is silenced by a look from the halfling.

"In the Shire, when one hobbit takes special interest in another, there is a giving of a gift of special significance. Sometimes a family heirloom, or something the hobbit made him or herself. If the gift is well received and the feelings returned, then the other hobbit will reciprocate with something similar. Then there are picnics and more gifts and shared meals and, if all goes well, then there is a joining ceremony in which the two are betrothed and it is a huge to-do in the Shire, with much merriment, and the food and ale are plentiful."

He takes on a critical look, gazing at Bofur, who tries not to let his uncertainty show on his face. Why was Bilbo telling him all these things?

The hobbit flushed red again, grumbling to himself about bothering and confuscating all Dwarves, and hauled his bag off his shoulders and dug around inside it, pulling out a long, carved pipe. It was still rough, freshly whittled and not yet polished to a shine, but it was fine craftsmanship that even a Dwarf could admire.

"I know you lost your good pipe in the flight from the Orc pack, and I also know how much you enjoy a smoke while you are on watch. I intended to finish it in Rivendell, but then we departed rather abruptly."

It was Bofur's turn to be taken aback, staring at Bilbo with eyes wide around enough that the whites were showing. Bilbo had made him a special gift?

Now the hobbit looked anxious, looking between the pipe in his outstretched hand and Bofur's face, trying to gauge his reaction. Finally, though, he grew exasperated with the Dwarf's silent gawping and shook the pipe at him, jaw squared.

"Well? Do you accept my offer to court you or not?" he blustered, embarrassed. 

Bofur twitched in amusement at the strength of will in his little hobbit and chuckled, the look of shock melting into something warm and fond. He reached out to take the pipe from Bilbo's palm, handling it as if it were made of the finest jewel encrusted gold. He admired it, seeing that the inside had been made ready for use even if the outside were still a bit rough. 

"When we get to a proper town I can polish it to a finish," Bilbo murmured, voice betraying his uncertainty at Bofur's continued silence. He's surprised, though, when the Dwarf shakes his head, a broad palm settling on the hobbit's shoulder.

"No, it is perfect just as it is," came his soft reply, pulling a tentative smile from the smaller. It was a little rough, yes, and perhaps not the most beautiful pipe, but Bilbo had made it for him and that made it the only pipe worth having in all of Middle Earth as far as Bofur was concerned. 

"As far as accepting your offer of courting, Master Baggins," the Dwarf murmured, leaning back in towards him with a smile, lips tantalizing close to the halfling's, "I accept, with delight, and hope that you will patiently await your own gift, as I try to come up with something of suitable worth to equal what you have given me this night."

He closed the distance between them and kissed Bilbo tenderly, arms coming to encircle the smaller in a tight embrace. His mind swam with uncertain doubt, even now, but it was banished the instant his kiss was returned, and the other's hands slid up the expanse of his back. What Bofur wouldn't give to be back in Rivendell, now, with his private room and the soft bed to lay Bilbo out on and truly show the hobbit how much he was adored. For now, though, in a cave surrounded by their companions and the knowledge of danger never being far off, this was enough for the Dwarf.

Bofur drew back with a soft smile and swept one of Bilbo's wild curls behind his ear, running his fingers through the soft hair with a thoughtful look. Much to the halfling's confusion, he made a short but tight braid from the honey blond locks, clipping it in place with one of his own silver clasps. Pleased, he leaned in to brush his lips across his hobbit's, not caring as he felt the braid in his own hair, once held by the clasp, unraveling.

"Dwarf braids have many meanings, depending on their location, the kind of clasp used and so forth. This braid means you are claimed, and by using my clasp, made by my own hand when I was a little one, means you are claimed by me. No other may lay claim to you, nor dare bring harm or displeasure to you so long as you bear my mark," he explained fondly, running a callused fingertip across the small braid. Bilbo actually looks pleased by this, if a little embarrassed at the knowledge that every Dwarf in their company will now know him as Bofur's, and returns the smile, reaching up with his own hand to tug at the end of the Dwarf's mustache.

"Didn't realize how desperate you were to keep your burglar, Bofur," came the hobbit's teasing lilt, an attempt to lighten the heaviness of emotion between them, inspiring a soft chuckle from the taller.

"My dear Master Baggins, if only you knew."

Somewhere in the mountain cave, the King Under the Mountain was smiling a rare smile, content in the knowledge that even if harsh times were ahead of them, there was still some light yet still to be taken from the darkness.


End file.
